


gone fishing

by dedkake



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Camping, Fishing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28656366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedkake/pseuds/dedkake
Summary: Erik gets the news that he's being moved to teach a new grade level and he has some serious decisions to make. Charles tries to help.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 50





	gone fishing

**Author's Note:**

> My contribution to the Bookends cherikzine from 2019, which I'm still humbled and honored to have been a part of. I've been meaning to post it to AO3 for like a year now and my resolve to actually post stuff in 2021 has finally given me the motivation to do it.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who helped with this :)

_I’m going to quit._

When Charles hits submit on his grades and looks at his phone, the text message is staring up at him from his lock screen. It doesn’t change, even when Charles swipes open the conversation. Erik has clearly lost his mind, and when no follow-up message appears, Charles grabs at his phone and calls Erik directly.

“What’s happening now?” Charles asks, when Erik picks up.

“You heard me—don’t pretend you didn’t.” Erik’s angry, and Charles can hear the distinct sounds of paper being ripped off a wall.

“You can’t quit.” There are a million reasons why Erik shouldn’t quit, but only one Charles can think of that might just cut through his anger to the logical part of his brain and make him see reason. “You’re not tenured yet.”

Erik lets out a long breath, almost like a sigh, and the sounds of murdered paper stop. “Shaw’s moving me to the sixth grade position, Charles.”

“Well, shit.” Charles doesn’t have anything else to say. Small children are Erik’s worst nightmare—8th grade is as young as he’d been willing to go when applying for jobs. But there’s nothing Charles can do about it, nothing either of them can do.

He’s hanging up and across the hall to Erik’s room before he can think about it, not surprised to find Erik’s room in complete disarray. There’s a stack of posters on a table, the textbooks are half on a cart, half on the bookshelf, and his bulletin board displays are in tatters. It’s like he’s started eight different tasks at once without completing any of them.

“Did he tell you _why_?” Charles asks from the doorway.

“I have more seniority than half the department,” Erik says, tearing a huge chunk of bulletin board paper from the wall and crumbling it up into a ball. “And all he would say when I asked was that he thought I’d fit in well with the rest of the sixth grade team. Charles, _Stryker’s_ on the sixth grade team.”

“Shaw’s full of shit.” 

“And he’ll have to eat it when I end up stabbing Stryker in the eyeball.” Nothing more will fit into the small trash can by Erik’s desk and Erik lets out a string of curses at it before he adds, “He’s such a condescending asshole and my room is going to be right next to his.”

“It’s absolute bullshit.” Unfortunately, Erik’s rage isn’t catching. Instead, Charles feels cold. Next year, they’ll either be teaching different grades or at different schools, and Charles can’t imagine Erik staying after this. Erik’s going to leave and Charles isn’t going to stop him, not over this. It wouldn’t be fair.

There’s silence for a moment as Erik runs his hands through his hair and surveys the mess of his classroom. He turns to Charles in the doorway, eyes wide, and Charles is surprised to see how sad he is, under the anger. “We’re such a good fucking team in eighth grade. That’s what pisses me off the most.”

Erik sighs again, completely deflated. “Sixth grade.”

“Let me call Moira,” Charles says, because they’re supposed to go for a date tonight—this is more important, she’ll understand—“and then you and I are going to the bar. You need a drink.”

Erik laughs at that, short but genuine. “I need several drinks, but I have to pack up my stuff.”

“We’ll come back next week to pack,” Charles says, because he’s pretty sure Erik will hurt himself if he continues to rage-clean his classroom. “Right now we’re getting you as many drinks as you want.”

-

“I can’t quit.” Slumped over the table with his forehead resting against his half-finished beer, Erik is the perfect picture of misery. Charles doesn’t feel much better.

Taking a sip of his own beer, Charles says, “You could,” even though he hates the idea. 

He can’t even imagine what going back to teach in August would be like without Erik. They’ve been in it together from the beginning, from walking into their first Teacher Ed class back in university. By some miracle, they’d both been hired into the same school, although Erik had to work for a year as a substitute first.

At least they’ll still be roommates, whatever else happens.

“I’m not tenured,” Erik says to the table. “I’d have to take a huge pay cut.”

And that’s it right there—money. The root of all evil and unhappiness. They both would’ve left after Erik’s first year if it weren’t for the money.

“But you’d be happier.” Charles knows it. Erik knows it. Most of the staff knows it. Erik hates working for Principal Shaw—their mutual dislike is infamous in the district by this point. It’s even likely that Shaw moved Erik down to sixth grade to drive him out of the building. 

Erik picks his head up and squints at Charles across the table. There’s a red indent on his forehead where it’s been resting on his glass, and condensation clings to the tip of his nose—it’s almost endearing. “I couldn’t help with the bills,” Erik says, and this time he sounds absolutely serious. “Your five-year plan would be shot.”

“Fuck my five-year plan.” Charles doesn’t even have to think about it—although he probably should. Alcohol and serious life decisions do not mix well. “Shaw’s an asshole and you shouldn’t have to deal with it. I’ll still have Moira and the apartment and you’ll have your sanity. That’s what’s important.”

Grumbling softly, Erik downs the rest of his beer. “I can put in for a transfer if I stick it out one more year. I should wait.”

“Sixth grade, Erik,” Charles says, because clearly Erik needs a reminder.

Erik slumps again. “They _cry_.”

And Charles can’t stop himself from saying, “They’ll definitely cry if you’re their teacher.” 

It earns him a glare, but at least Erik is sitting up again. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Confidence. Charles is always confident in Erik’s ability to be a great teacher, no matter where he is, even if he does have a unique talent for wrangling eighth graders and whipping them into shape for high school. He wants to say as much, but after his fifth beer, all he can manage is, “You’d make them cry in a good way.”

Erik laughs at that, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s not fair. The last day of the school year is supposed to be a day of celebration, a day to unwind and prepare themselves for duty-free summer. It’s not supposed to be like this—no one’s supposed to look like that.

“I have to stay,” Erik says after a moment, spinning his empty glass on the table. “I’d have to move back in with my mom if I quit. And you—”

Charles doesn’t want to hear it. As much as he likes being part of Erik’s life consideration, he shouldn’t be part of this. So, even if the thought makes him want to gag, he cuts in, “I could call Kurt. He’d give me the money if I asked. We can keep the apartment.”

“Fuck Kurt.” Erik says it with a passion that Charles always wishes he could muster.

He just about manages it with his own, “Fuck Shaw.”

And Erik might be smiling when he says, “I need another beer.”

Maybe they’re about to enter a period of financial turmoil, but Charles orders them another round anyway. Getting wasted at a bar is more poetic than doing it in their living room, and Erik could use the drama right now.

-

Back at the apartment, Erik drops his work bag on the pile of shoes by the door and says, “Maybe I just need to get away for awhile.”

Charles kicks off his shoes and almost falls over—would have fallen over if Erik hadn’t reached out to grab his arm. Erik’s hand is warm and surprisingly steady, considering they’d topped the night off with more beer and a shot of whisky each. If he let his eyes close, Charles could just lean in and rest and—he pulls himself back and forces himself to remember what Erik’s just said. 

Glaring between Erik’s bag and Erik, because the bag’s a good enough target for his misplaced frustration, Charles says, “I thought that’s why you _forgot_ to sign up for summer classes.”

Erik rolls his eyes—points to Charles for hitting a sore spot, there—and says, “I mean, like, _away_ away. Out of town.”

“Where are you going to go?” Charles asks, because even making his way across the room to spread out on the couch takes an enormous amount of effort. Traveling is unthinkable.

There’s a pause, and Charles squints across the room to see Erik struggling with his shoes by the door. “Paris,” Erik says when he finally manages to get both shoes off.

“Money,” Charles counters. Because, really.

“San Francisco.” Erik doesn’t hesitate, but he looks thoughtful enough as he drops down onto the floor near the couch.

“Money,” Charles says again, stretching his legs out as far as he can on the couch.

“Damnit.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s just—” Erik starts, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He’s right there, right in front of Charles’s face, and it would be so easy to just reach out and push Erik’s hair back down flat, to run his fingers through it and mess it up more. “Let’s go fishing.”

Charles blinks, his mind stuttering, caught between his desire to touch Erik and Erik’s words. “You fish?” he asks after a moment, because it doesn’t seem right.

“That’s not the point,” Erik says with a sigh. He’s pushing at his hair again, one hand sliding down to the back of his neck. Charles could stare at Erik’s neck for hours. Maybe he has. This may be a problem.

“I mean,” Charles says to distract himself, looking up at the blank television screen instead of Erik. “The point of fishing is to _fish_. It’s kind of in the name.”

The noise that Erik makes at that is gruff and disinterested and there’s no reason Charles should find it hot. None. “That’s not important,” Erik says, turning to glare back at Charles.

“Erik,” Charles starts—but he has no idea where he’s going. He’s stuck, pinned to the couch by Erik’s gaze and he can’t think. 

“Charles,” Erik says after a moment. His eyebrows do that thing they do when he’s concerned, pushing up in the middle and it’s not even close to fair.

“You’re drunk,” Charles finally manages to say, but he’s not sure who he’s talking to. “It’s absolutely important that you know fishing is about—fishing.”

Erik’s concern turns to a glower in an instant. “Give me my laptop.”

And that’s what’s digging into Charles’s shoulder. He yanks it out from between the cushions and turns it over in his hands. He’s not sure he trusts Erik with the power of a laptop and the internet right now. “Why?”

“So I can find a good place for us to go fishing,” Erik says, prying his laptop from Charles’s grasp.

Charles glares this time, trying to burn a hole through the side of Erik’s pretty head. “I hate fishing.”

Waving him off absently as he boots up the laptop, Erik says, “It’s not about fishing.”

“You’re not making any sense.” 

And really, the entire world isn’t making sense right now. Charles is supposed to be happily on a date with Moira, fantasizing about running his hands through _her_ hair and kissing his way down _her_ neck. Erik is supposed to be asleep in his room because he can’t stay up late ever, not even on the last day of school, and the two of them are supposed to be getting ready for a long summer before they head back to work together. To the same school. To their rooms across the hall from each other, teaching eighth grade.

“You’re free the entire month of July, right?” Erik says, and Charles has no idea how much time has passed. At some point, he’s closed his eyes.

“Erik,” Charles says, and maybe he only says it because he wants to feel Erik’s name on his tongue—he has no idea what comes next. 

Adjusting the laptop on his knees, oblivious, Erik says, “Mom’s got a tent we could borrow. And I don’t think she ever packed up Dad’s fishing gear. It’s probably still in the garage.”

That’s not fair. He hasn’t even asked if Charles wants to go. “I don’t do tents.”

“It’ll be great,” Erik murmurs. He reaches over his shoulder and his hand lands an awkward pat on Charles’s stomach. Maybe he’d been going for an arm or a shoulder, but he’s left Charles shivering.

-

“Are you going to bring Moira with you?” 

Charles is the middle of a promising book about the use of meditation techniques in the classroom and hadn’t heard Erik come in. The question throws him for a loop, but he’s just read forty pages about breathing and thinking before he reacts, so he puts it to good use.

“What?” Charles asks, sticking his pen between the pages of the book before closing it.

Erik is leaning against the back of the chair by the door, watching Charles closely. “Moira,” he says slowly, and yes, Charles got _that_ part. “Fishing. Is she going to come, too?”

Taking a deep, box breath, Charles tries to let go of the anxiety that coils tight in his gut at that. He hasn’t really planned on bringing this up with Erik at all. Ever.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, shrugging a shoulder, letting it roll off him. “She’s going to break up with me.”

“What, you can read people’s minds, now?” Erik asks, but he’s doing that concerned thing again. He even steps around the chair and sits down, level with Charles across the coffee table.

“I just know,” Charles says, because he needs Erik to let it go, just like he has. “She’s been distant.” Distant as in, they’ve had five arguments in the last week, each one of them about Erik and the apartment and money and this damn fishing trip.

“Maybe you’re just projecting.” Erik Lehnsherr—he knows just how to read an eight grader, just how to talk them into admitting their faults, and apparently Charles as well. 

The mindfulness gurus would tell Charles to think before he responds—consider all the options and choose the best one. Fuck that. Charles, pushes himself to his feet and heads to the kitchen. If Erik can hear him over his shoulder, then that’s fine. “I’ll break up with her, then.”

Erik, of course, follows him, leaning in the doorway when Charles turns back from grabbing a beer out of the fridge. “Charles.”

He says it slowly, soft, like he’s been the one studying mindfulness all day. Maybe he has been. Moira had recommended that the entire staff look through it over the summer.

“She’s not going camping with us,” Charles says, pushing past Erik to get back to the couch. “You don’t have to worry about being the third wheel.”

Erik sits down in the chair again, still watching Charles. It’s infuriating and Charles focuses himself on his beer and not on Erik just to get back at Erik for not letting this go. It’s sour, one that Charles had picked up. Moira would tolerate it and Erik would _hate_ it—which is exactly what he doesn’t want to be thinking about right now. But for all he’s read about letting disruptive thoughts go, he has no idea how to just _do_ it.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone at the campsite.” Erik says it after a moment, almost off-hand as he pulls his laptop out of his bag.

It’s something new to focus on, a new place to put his energy, and Charles thinks he might actually melt into the couch in relief. “Good point,” he says, and because he can be a good friend when he wants to be, adds, “Maybe we’ll both find someone.”

“I just want to fish,” Erik says, not looking up from his laptop. He’s frowning though, and Charles is pretty sure he’s staring at one spot on the screen and not actually doing anything.

“Sure.”

-

There’s a huge sign at the front of the campground that has some very clear and rather detailed rules on it—including a large no-fishing sign almost smack-dab in the middle. It’s on the brochure they got when they pulled up as well, and Charles turns it over to see if there are any exceptions. 

There aren’t.

“This seems like a huge oversight, Erik.” Charles is almost afraid to see Erik’s reaction.

Erik just shrugs and settles himself into his lawn chair. The tent isn’t too large, but their sleeping bags fit in it no problem. Erik even started them a little fire already, even though the sun hasn’t begun to set and they’d eaten a late lunch on the road. It’s rather nice. Maybe.

Tossing the brochure into a box of cooking equipment, Charles says, “You’re not mad?” He can’t quite believe it.

“How could I be mad?” Erik asks, and he looks perfectly relaxed. Charles doesn’t think he’s ever seen Erik look so at ease and he has to squash down the urge to cross the campsite and kiss him.

He contents himself with poking holes in Erik’s vacation instead. “There’s no fishing at the camp lake. We’re on a fishing trip.”

Rolling his head against the back of his chair to throw a glare in Charles’s direction, Erik says, “I told you, it’s not about the fish.”

“You could’ve just said you wanted to go camping.”

“We’re not,” Erik says, gesturing vaguely at the tailgate where the fishing gear is sitting, still unpacked. “We’re out fishing.”

Charles tries a box breath or two and reminds himself that this is Erik’s vacation and Charles really could’ve just stayed at home if he’d wanted. It’s fine.

-

“I met the girl from two sites over at the water spigot.” Charles can’t stop smiling. He can’t believe his luck. They’ve only been here for a day and already it’s paying off.

“And?” Erik asks, not looking up from his book. It’s some old sci-fi paperback, definitely not anything they’ve been asked to read. “Did you somehow manage to sleep with her in the last five minutes?”

Settling himself back into his chair, Charles leaves his own book untouched on the picnic table. “No. She wanted your number.”

That gets Erik’s attention. He doesn’t look up, but he’s unnaturally still. “My number,” he repeats, tone level—triple-threat level. Charles has no idea what Erik’s thinking.

“She thinks you’re cute,” Charles says, because he’s tired of watching Erik throw away opportunities for romance. “And she wants to help cheer you up.”

“Charles.” That’s Erik’s teacher voice. Charles is used to hearing it across the hall at school, but he’s not sure Erik has ever used it on him before.

Instead of stopping, like Erik wants, Charles ignores him—because Erik’s wrong about this. “So don’t be surprised if you get a text later.”

Erik snaps his book closed, a rather impressive feat considering its size. “I’m not here to find a new girlfriend.”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it was hard when Magda left,” he says, and he knows immediately that it’s the wrong choice. They don’t talk about Magda. She’s off limits.

“That’s not what this is about,” Erik says, nearly growling. Definitely the wrong choice.

Backtracking, because Erik may be wrong, but Charles values his life, Charles says, “You’re taking a break from your responsibilities. It’s fine. I’m not going to judge you for escaping reality for a little while, and neither is the girl from C-13.”

There’s a soft sound when Erik’s book hits the dirt, not at all satisfying. “I’m not here to escape anything.”

“Erik,” Charles says, because he’s tired of Erik not making any sense. He’s given up his summer to help Erik with this, he’s broken up with his girlfriend in the name of Erik’s continued happiness and well-being, and Erik’s still being willfully obtuse. “You took a fishing trip and you’re not mad that you can’t fish and now you’re trying to tell me that you’re not trying to escape—you said you wanted to get away.”

Erik closes his eyes on his next breath, and when he opens them again, he says, “I wanted to get away with _you_.”

Charles is caught, can’t look away. Erik’s staring him down, all anger and sincerity and hope and Charles forgets to breathe for a moment. 

“What?” he manages to say, and somehow it comes out incredulous. Because Erik’s still not making any sense and Charles doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

It’s not surprising when Erik shoves himself to his feet and storms off towards the camp lake. Charles doesn’t follow him.

-

It’s dark out when Erik comes back. He looks tired in the light of the fire. Charles nods at the picnic table, where he’s left out the fixings for peanut butter sandwiches—he may be able to start a fire, but there’s no way he’s learning to use that stupid camp stove.

Erik eats in silence and Charles doesn’t push him, just sits by the fire and tries not to think of the way Erik sometimes eats entire spoonfuls of peanut butter right from the jar. It’s distracting.

By the time Erik finally closes the lid of the cooler and takes it and the dry food back to the car— _there are_ bears, _Charles_ —Charles is nearly twitching with pent up energy. He’s at a loss, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to think anymore. Because Erik is right there, and he has been for so long, but he’s never been attainable. Except now—

Reining in his nerves with a few deep breaths, Charles manages to calm his racing heart and say, “So, me.”

Erik doesn’t respond for a moment, just keeps staring at the fire, his hands shoved into his pockets. Then, “Yeah, you.”

That’s—a lot. It’s a lot and yet Charles still has no idea where Erik’s coming from. If he assumes and he’s _wrong_ about it—he’d rather not even try. 

“Erik,” Charles tries, “I’m—I don’t quite understand.”

Erik takes a quick step to the side, then shifts back. It’s a display of nerves Charles isn’t used to from Erik, and he feels that much better for seeing it. Clearing his throat, Erik says, “If I quit, I won’t see you at work anymore. And I’d probably have to move back in with my mother, so I wouldn’t see you at home, either. If I stay, I’ll be miserable at work. I won’t see you there much anymore, but at least you’ll be there when I go home.”

Charles’s heart is racing again, no matter how many deep breaths he tries to take. Because that’s it, right there. Erik’s given him the perfect opportunity, one he’s barely let himself imagine for nine years. And yet, he can’t bring himself to take the next step.

“I’m sure we can find time to hang out,” he says, looking back at the fire, his hands, anywhere but Erik. “No matter what you choose.”

Even from the corner of his eye, Charles can see the way Erik’s entire body snaps to attention. “It’s more than that, Charles. You know it is.” The words are sharp in a way that reminds Charles of when Magda left, or when Erik got the call about his parents’ accident. For all his edges, Erik’s made himself completely vulnerable tonight.

“Erik,” Charles starts, but it’s all wrong. He knows it’s more, wants to know just how much more, and there are no words for that. He pushes himself to his feet and into Erik’s space, gratified to see surprise in Erik’s eyes before he leans up and kisses him.

He’s got his hands on Erik’s face, his neck— _finally_ —tangling in the short hair at his nape. Heedless of their stubble and the smell and grime of two days living outdoors, Charles kisses him. He needs Erik to know exactly how much this means to him.

And Erik’s right there, kissing back, his hands twisted tight into Charles’s shirt, like he’s afraid to let go.

But they do part, slowly, leaning into each other. Charles starts on a box breathing cycle to calm himself, something that he’s surprised has become habit, and, after a beat, Erik joins him. The simple act of breathing together is almost as intimate as the kiss had been, and Charles feels himself flush up to his ears.

He pulls back, he has to. He needs a break from the moment. “So—you’re definitely not interested in the girl from C-13?”

Erik glares at him and says, “Not at all.” And if that doesn’t end the discussion, the way he tips his head down to brush his nose against Charles’s cheek does.

-

Later, when they’re tired of standing and they stop long enough to put the fire out, Charles tugs Erik back into the tent.

“You realize you didn’t have to drag me out into the woods to do this,” he says, kicking his shoes off at the entryway to keep as much dirt out of the tent as possible.

Erik makes a non-committal noise into Charles’s neck, pulling him inside despite the dirt.

“There are so many bugs here,” Charles continues, zipping up the tent because Erik has clearly lost his mind again. “And there’s sand everywhere. When did I even walk through sand?”

“Charles.” Erik sounds a little desperate this time, his breath catching on Charles’s name, and Charles reaches out to take his hand.

“We could be in our apartment right now,” Charles says, leaning in to kiss his way over Erik’s cheek to his ear. “We could be in my _bed_.”

-

“I suppose there’s something romantic about this,” Charles says, watching the morning sun filter through the bright blue of the tent. There are birds chirping, the hum of nature over the pervasive quiet of the woods, along with the steady pulse of Erik’s heart under his ear.

Erik shifts, pushing Charles off his chest to roll to his side. “See?” he murmurs, still quiet with sleep.

Charles runs a hand down Erik’s arm and says, “But we could be doing something romantic where it doesn’t smell like mildew.”

With a soft grunt that’s almost annoyed, Erik wraps Charles in his arms and pulls him close, breathing deep.

The quiet of the morning passes slowly, and Charles is in no hurry to see it gone. But eventually, Erik stirs and pushes himself up. “I’m going to be a kick-ass sixth grade geography teacher,” he says, which is nothing like Charles thought he might say.

“Shaw’s not getting rid of me that easily,” Erik continues, twisting around to grab his shirt. “He won’t want me gone after this year—the Social Studies team will fall apart without me.”

“Yes,” Charles says, because he has no doubt it’s true. He still doesn’t like the idea of Erik working at the other end of the building. “And you’ll bring me coffee on your prep every day.”

Erik’s determination softens and he drops Charles’s shirt on his chest. “I make you coffee at home every morning, anyway. I’m sure I can manage it twice a day.”

“And we’re never going fishing again.”

“Someday,” Erik says, ignoring him completely, “we’re going to take a really long fishing trip. We’ll go fishing all over the world.”

Pulling on his shirt, Charles reminds him, “Money.”

“Someday,” Erik says again, leaning over for a kiss. And if this is what fishing is all about, Charles thinks he could be convinced. Someday.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was inspired by a) that interview with the fishing trip and b) my life being turned upside down in 2019. i was seriously blocked for the zine and thought 'what the heck let's give this write-what-you-know thing a try' and i still can't quite believe i did it lol


End file.
